Ebb, Arc, and Flow
by joreza
Summary: ON HOLD INDEFINITELY. I am rewriting the entire story, it will take a while. I didn't want to derail the story like this and put everyone who enjoyed it on hold, I'm sorry, but writer's whim would not hear otherwise. Sorry again.
1. The Body

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Please read and review. My first fan fiction.

Please also note that I, like everyone else, do not own World of Warcraft. I did invent the characters in this story, however (obviously not the NPCs from Blizzard's world who will make appearances later).

The present action of the story takes place 5 years after the defeat of Archimonde, during the time of The Burning Crusade. Every so often there will be a flashback chapter to the characters lives before the war with Archimonde. These chapters will have titles prefaced with "The Past:" and the beginning of the chapter will say how many years before the rest of the story it takes place.

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The dead man's skin disintegrated when touched, coating its surroundings with dust. The body looked wrong – hollow, almost. The face contorted in agony, eyes wide open in obvious shock and fear, but with a hint of something else, something unrecognizable.

Gavren turned to his lieutenant and spoke in a soft whisper. "Four years working for the Temple, and I've never seen anything like this. I was traveling back when that damn plague was devastating the Northern Kingdoms, and I never saw anything _close _to this. See if you can get one of the priests down here. We need more guidance than I can give." His lieutenant nodded and turned to depart, while Gavren turned back to the corpse.

The disintegrating skin had left patches of muscle exposed. It was horrifying. Gavren had seen exposed muscles before, as a result of combat injuries, but these looked wrong. They were gelatinous and transparent. Gavren had seen similar things happen to the muscles of a diseased man several years ago, but there had been other symptons. Pustules and sores, loss of hair, loss of eyesight. The man dead on the floor in front of him showed none of the above. _It's like his body was melted, but it wasn't burned or cooked... melted without heat. Is that possible?_

Gavren tore his eyes away from the macabre sight in front of him and looked up. He was standing in a small cottage in Goldshire, just outside Stormwind. In chairs around the table were seated three women – the wife of the deceased man, and his two daughters – all understandably shocked. Watching over them were two members of the Stormwind guard, assigned to help Gavren in his work. A neighbor had called for the guard after hearing a scream from the cottage, but upon seeing the body, the guard had quickly asked the Temple to send a help. Gavren had still been awake, despite the late hour, and upon hearing the details, he had requested the assignment. The Latrielle family, in whose cottage he now stood, were old friends from his youth. The dead man was Frederick Latrielle, a woodcarver. Gavren had been friends with his youngest daughter growing up in Goldshire. The youngest daughter who had been missing for the last five years...

None of the three women had said a word, which was compounding the difficulty of Graven's investigation. He supposed he could bring them back to the Temple and try to coerce them to speak there, but he didn't have the heart. They were doubtless silent from the shock, and the old ties of his childhood made him feel sympathy for them.

Gavren turned to one of the guards. "I just sent Katryna up to fetch a priest. I need you to go and request a druid and a shaman as well. See if you can find one in the city, and if not, send a request from the Temple to Darnassus and the Exodar. We're going to need help here."

The guard nodded and left.

Gavren hadn't been expecting any of the women to speak after their initial silence, so he wasn't sure at first he had heard correctly when the Lady Latrielle – _now the Widow Latrielle_, he corrected himself, berating himself for morbidity as soon as the thought came to his brain – spoke.

"It was _her_," she murmured softly.

"Excuse me?" Gavren stared at her.

"Her," the widow repeated, staring straight and unblinkingly at a spot on the wall of the cottage.

"Who is her? Lady Latrielle, I will find your husband's killer, but you must help me," he said as he walked over to her. Perhaps a bit blunt and straightforward, but it was late, and Gavren was well past tired. He put a hand – hopefully a comforting one – on her shoulder. There was a long pause before the Lady spoke again.

"My own flesh and blood. Her. Come back and killed her own father."

These words seared themselves straight into Gavren's brain. He stiffened involuntarily, unsure how to respond. The missing daughter. Gone for five years. His closest childhood friend. _No... she couldn't have... she wasn't on very good terms with her father when she left, understandably so... but to murder him..._

"She was all in black. Like the night. Like death. But it was her own voice. I been waitin' five years to hear that voice. But I wish to the Gods and to the Light I hadn't tonight. It was awful. It weren't like I remember it, not sweet. All dark. All pain. All anger. That voice gone and changed over the last five years. But still her voice. I know that past a doubt." The Lady's voice was flat and emotionless.

Gavren stared at her, and the look on her face banished any doubt from his mind that she was telling the truth. Hollow, despondent, utterly hopeless. It was a frightening thing to see; someone that had lost all desire to live. The type of thing that only happened when a person was forced to see or experience something horrible, something beyond comparison. _Like watching your youngest daughter murder your husband in a horrible way_.

Gavren turned slowly back to the mangled corpse on the floor.

_Cathery... what have you done? What has happened to you?_

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The incessant pounding on the door of her room in the inn was beginning to give her a headache. At first she'd tried ignoring it, but that strategy was clearly failing. Perhaps it was best just to give in, and see if she could make whoever go away. She rolled awkwardly out of her bed, staggering over to the dresser next to the window to grab a shirt.

She stared outside. It must have been one in the morning, at the earliest. Not late by her old sleep schedule, when she lived in the forests of Teldrassil, but she had adopted a diurnal schedule since moving to Stormwind. Inwardly, she sighed. Humans were a strange bunch of malcontents. If you were noctournal, everything closed at eleven and you had to change your ways. If you became diurnal, they wanted you up at one in the morning. _Even Night Elves need sleep, you sods..._

Although voicing her thoughts was tempting, she managed to muster enough courtesy to simply yell out an "I'm coming!" while pulling a black silk shirt over her head. It wasn't the most modest item she owned, having been tailored for a party in Darnassus several years ago and intended for wear with an evening gown. But it would suffice for now. She wasn't going to spend time dressing, not at this hour. The only reason she was dressing at all was because the idea of greeting a human with nothing but a bra on top was extremely unappealing.

_Thank you, Cenarius, father of Druids, for making my work pants comfortable enough to sleep in, and thus making me look at least partially respectable right now with less effort. _The prayer was only halfway joking.

She staggered sleepily over to the door and opened it. A man in a Stormwind guard uniform was standing outside, looking flustered. _Probably from banging on my damn door a bit too much._

She blinked groggily at him. "Yeah, what do you want," she muttered, her tone barely making the sentence into a question.

"Ah.. are you Miss Edelia A'luntho... luntho...lre..." the messenger stuttered, clearly not accustomed to the pronunciation of Darnassian names. Some Night Elves had extremely easy ones – Dawnbreeze, Riverrunner, the like. Edelia's name was not one of them.

"A'lunthorela," she muttered.

"Yes, Miss Alunth... er, sorry... " he floundered again.

She sighed in exasperation. This was not worth getting up at one in the morning for. "It doesn't matter. Edelia is fine. Yes, I am her. Tell me want you want." With any luck, her directness would be reciprocated and this could be settled quickly.

"Miss Edelia, I am sorry for waking you at this hour, but your presence has been requested by Gavren Tuldor, Paladin of the Light, Most Honorable Servant of his Lord -"

"I don't care who his Lord is," she cut him off snappishly. So much for directness being reciprocated. "What does Gavren Tuldor want with me?"

"Well, ma'am," started the messenger apologetically, "there's been a death. And Sir Tuldor has requested the aid of a druid. Your acquaintance at the Temple gave us your name and location."

_Oh sodding hell. Giving Amy my name and telling her that I'd be happy to help the Servants of the Light whenever they needed it. It seemed like such a nice idea at the time. Sodding sodding hell. _

_But I did promise to help._

_What kind of death does he need a druid for? Can't a paladin deal with a dead body?_

She stood in the doorway, mulling it over in her mind for a moment, but in the end, there was relatively little doubt as to her decision. She had promised to help, and Edelia's word meant the world to her. And perhaps, if she was lucky, the need for a druid was real, and Cenarius wanted her there. It was worth finding out more, at least.

"Very well. Give me one moment to find my boots, and then you may take me to this Gavren Tuldor."

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She heard a splash as she stepped into the cottage and looked down. She'd stepped into a large puddle of white liquid that stretched across the length of the floor. It was opaque; not clear like water. Edelia stepped back out of reflex, into the doorway and away from the strange substance.

"Here, you don't want to step in that. Let me give you a hand across." She looked up at the speaker, a well-built human with short brown hair and dark brown eyes to match. He looked to be in his early thirties. The tabard covering his silver armor identified him as a paladin from the Temple. His face reflected the tiredness she felt, which made her feel slightly better about being awake at this hour. _Misery loves company. _There was also something else hidden in his features. Anger, perhaps, or sadness. Edelia couldn't tell for sure.

"Gavren Tuldor?" she asked, regarding his outstretched hand.

"Yes. And trust me, you want a hand across. You'll be glad for the help once I tell you what that puddle is."

She frowned at him, more than a little confused by his words. But the puddle was just a few inches too wide for her to step across into the room without getting some on her boots, and if it turned out to be something truly unpleasant...

Edelia nodded and reached out, grasping his hand. It was rough, calloused. A swordfighter's hand. She took a leap across the puddle and he pulled her across in the air, swinging her to the other side where he let go. She stepped back from him and turned to regard the puddle, now that she had more room.

"Well, Sir Gavren Tuldor, what is it?" she inquired. He turned towards her.

"Gavren is fine. And brace yourself before I tell you, Miss..."

"Edelia is fine for now. No Miss," she answered, recalling the messenger's difficulty with her last name. "And consider me properly braced."

He nodded, a grim expression on his face, before turning back towards the puddle.

"An hour ago, it was a corpse."


	2. The Bottle

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Consider this another request for reviews, please.

Also, predictably enough, I do not own World of Warcraft, and claiming I did would be lunacy.

I think this is longer and better than the first chapter, so enjoy. I also sketched a draft of the next chapter; it will occur in the past. Just an FYI.

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A considerable distance South of the Latrielle cottage was the forest known as Duskwood. Within Northern Duskwood was an abandoned ghost town known as Raven Hill. East of Raven Hill was the mountain border of the Twilight Grove. The space between the two was simply forest; trees, shrubs, birds, spiders, and the other usual inhabitants. There were sounds – wolves growling at the moon, birds singing into the night, spiders skittering across rocks and foliage, leaves rustling in the wind.

Not tonight.

Tonight it was silent.

Tonight, if an observer with particularly sharp eyes had been present between Raven Hill and the Twilight Grove, they might have noticed that amidst all the black of night in the forest, one patch of black looked wrong.

If you looked close enough, it was moving.

It – or rather _she_, for it was a woman – moved silently through the forest, her pitch black robes swirling around her. Her footsteps made no sound, her breathe was muffled by the black hood over her face. The rocky terrain didn't seem to slow her. She moved purposefully, steadily, quickly.

And then, upon arriving at a nondescript clearing in the middle of the forest, she stopped.

She waited silently and without moving. Her wait continued for over an hour, until a man walked into the far side of the clearing. He was tall, thin, wearing similar black robes but with no hood obscuring his face. As he walked closer to her, she could see the purple bags deep under his eyes, and the purple scars covering his bald head. The dark of night obscured them, and had she not known they were there in advance, she very well could have missed them.

_His lack of a hood is brazen_, she thought to herself,_ but to question is not my place._ She said nothing.

He regarded her for several moments until he spoke. His words were very slow, very deliberate. The voice was dry.

"You have... severed... your ties?"

She bowed to him. "Yes, master. The strongest of them." As she spoke, her mind flashed back to his early training of her, and the first lessons he had imparted. _Remember, girl, the strongest power is anger. Nothing in this world, nothing in the nether, and nothing in between can affect you like anger._

He was pleased, and gave her what was a smile by his standards. This meant his mouth crooked upwards almost imperceptibly for a fraction of a second, and then returned to a flat line.

"Good. You will... walk South. Let your... senses... guide you. I have left you... a present. You will... know... how to find it. Once you have... acquired it, proceed South... to the Bay. The Booty Bay... as it is called. I will leave... instructions."

She bowed once again. "I understand, Master."

He smiled his cold and minuscule smile once more before turning to leave. "Good girl. I am proud of you... Cathery."

Cathery Latrielle waited until he had left, and then turned to the South.

Although she wasn't consciously aware of it, some small part of her knew that she had been feeling less alive every day for the last five years.

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Gavren stood in the cottage, watching Edelia, who was seated on one of the chairs that had been vacated when the guard removed the surviving members of the family. She had taken the news of the liquid-corpse-puddle on the floor much better than he had expected. She had been surprised, certainly, and a little shocked, but it quickly turned to intense concentration as she sat on the chair and wracked her mind for any knowledge of what could have happened. This was surprising to Gavren, since he'd heard from a friend that Night Elves were squeamish and and soft creatures by nature, and more or less believed it, since he'd never really 'met' one. Gavren had encountered them in passing, certainly, but never held a conversation. A memory came to his mind of Cathery teasing him about being a racist when he had called Orcs smelly, back when they were both thirteen. He wondered briefly what she would've made of his belief in Night Elf squeamishness. Gavren couldn't seem to stop memories of her from popping into his mind every minute or so. He believed the Lady Latrielle, believed the look on her face and the tone of her voice... but the thought of Cathery, his Cathery, his best friend for sixteen years, doing whatever had been done here – and to her father, no less – was appalling. His mind wasn't sure how to deal with it, and so it simply chose not to.

Gavren refocused his attention on Edelia. She was still concentrating, her softly glowing eyes staring intently at the puddle on the floor, eyebrows furrowed in thought, head resting in her hands, lips pursed in a slight frown. He had to admit, even when it was wrapped in consternation, she had a very pretty face. Her face, like the rest of her, was thin, but not unpleasantly so. The irises of her eyes – at least, the portion visible around the glowing light in the center – were light blue. Her skin was light purple, perfectly smooth and flawless. Her lips were a dark shade of purple, and she had markings painted under her eyes in a shade of purple slightly darker than her skin, markings that looked to Gavren like two large and symmetrical eagle wings. Her azure hair, slightly longer than shoulder length, was messy and unkempt – understandable, at this hour – and strands fell over her face.

As soon as thoughts of her features entered his head, Gavren chastised himself. _I am a paladin. I am investigating the murder of a man I knew, and I may very well know the murderer also. What am I doing contemplating a Night Elf's face?_ He chalked his thoughts up to curiosity at his first real meeting with one, and felt slightly better.

Eventually, Edelia looked up at him and he raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question. She shook her head in response. "I have no idea what could have happened. I've never seen anything close to this either. Both the decay of the body occurring before I arrived that you described to me, and this current state of... liquidation." She paused, shaking her head slowly. "Such things do not happen in nature," she finished, looking pensive.

Gavren nodded. "I sent for more help, a priest and a shaman. If the Light is with us, they'll be here soon."

Edelia nodded slowly again, still thinking. "Do you have any idea how this happened? Who could have done it? You mentioned his family was in here, did you see anything?"

He delayed before answering, and his face flushed slightly. She couldn't possibly have known that he delayed because he was sheltering a former friend, but Gavren's unduly nervous side was nonetheless worried that was how she would perceive his pause. Finally, he spoke. "The family... might have seen something. They're not sure. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I wonder about sending for a priest and a shaman... I think perhaps you should send for a mage instead. Like I said, this doesn't happen in nature, and unless there are parts of human religious doctrine I am woefully unaware of, I don't think the Light has ever come close to this either. My intuition is that whatever happened here was a different type of magic. Something arcane, perhaps." Her fingers were roaming absentmindedly up and down her cheek as she contemplated the puddle.

Gavren kicked himself mentally. Arcane magic. Of course he should have investigated the possibility. It hadn't occurred to him, because Cathery had never shown any aptitude with magic in the sixteen years he had known her. But then again, she wasn't much of a priest, or shaman, or druid. He had turned to them because he felt close to them – their arts bordered on a religion, much like his own. But a mage made sense. And even if Cathery had never been magically inclined when he had known her, it was abundantly clear that things had changed.

"You're right. I'll ask my lieutenant about finding someone from the Sanctum who can help us in the morning. She's gone home to bed."

Edelia rose from her chair. Gavren noticed she was short for a night elf, roughly the same height as himself. She turned to him. "Perhaps we should do the same and get some sleep, so we can work in the morning. If the others you called for don't appear to be showing themselves, it's possible they are simply waiting as well."

Gavren frowned. "I'm not sure about leaving the body... or what's left of it... here by itself. Over the course of an hour it turned into that – what if it's completely gone tomorrow?"

Edelia shrugged. "There's not much more it could deteriorate honestly, but I understand. We should find a way to preserve it. Perhaps you and your men can find a bottle in the inn we can use to take some."

She walked over to the puddle and knelt down next to it. Gavren noticed as he looked down at her that the black shirt she wore was undoubtedly flattering and stylish, but also fairly revealing from the top. He quickly looked away, chastening himself again. _An interesting choice for her to wear to a late night murder investigation. Maybe it's a druid thing._

She reached out, and before he knew what she was doing, had stuck her fingers in the puddle. She quickly gasped and pulled them back. Gavren knelt next to her, worried.

"Are you alright, Edelia?"

She turned to him, looking extremely discontented. "Yes, I'm fine. It's just... that liquid, it feels... wrong. I'm not sure what it is, exactly. But something about it is unpleasant." She stood up, rising above him. "When you go to find a bottle, see if you can find a glove also. I'm not scooping that stuff up with my bare hands." She was rubbing her hand vigorously on her more modest leather work pants, trying to remove all last traces of the goo.

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Twenty minutes later, Gavren and Edelia were standing in Goldshire, outside the cottage. Edelia held a bottle full of the corpse goo, sealed shut with wax. The best Gavren had been able to find at this hour was an old ale bottle, and Edelia was privately worried that the residual alcohol would destroy their sample's worth, but she didn't say it.

She yawned and leaned back, stretching her tired body, running a hand through her hair. This motion brought her shoulder back and stretched out her shirt slightly in the corner of Gavren's eye, revealing – _For the love of the Light, man. Control your thoughts. I'm a paladin, and I am working! That's the third time in less than an hour!_

He looked up to her, forcing his mind back to their present situation. "I think you were right, I don't think the others I sent for will be arriving tonight. If they were, they would have by now. We can have someone from the Temple track them down tomorrow. So that said, we should get some rest, but if you don't mind continuing to help me, I'd like to meet early tomorrow and talk about this."

She nodded her consent. "I'm staying at the Blue Recluse. There's a decent breakfast around ten in the morning. I'll meet you in the common room downstairs?"

He nodded. "That's fine."

"Okay. I'll hold onto this - " she looked pointedly at the bottle of goo "for tonight. There's a friend of mine I'd like to see it, I'll run it over to him first thing tomorrow before breakfast." She paused, and shook her head, smiling softly. She had a very pretty smile, but in these particular circumstances, its presence was confusing Gavren.

"What is it?"

"It's just... an hour and a half ago, I was wondering what on Azeroth could be so important as to wake someone up this late. A few possibilities ran through my mind, but none of them even came close to this." She looked up and stared at Gavren for a few moments, grinning playfully. "You sure know how to show a girl an interesting time, Gavren Tuldor."

With that, she turned and left, leaving Gavren staring after her. He sent a quick prayer to the light that her back was turned to him, and she couldn't see his stare. Gavren wasn't sure exactly why he was staring – but her last comment had taken him off his balance in a very sudden and definite way.

_Something must be wrong with me tonight. Perhaps it's the stress._


	3. The Past: Going North

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Again, I really appreciate the kind reviews that have been given so far. As of my writing this, there's four of you who have left reviews, and you all are enough to inspire me to try to update twice tonight. (If I don't manage that, which I very well might not, I promise an update tomorrow).

Don't own WoW, would be less broke if I did, yadda

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**Five Years Ago**

"Come on, Gav, are you really _that_ sore you got beat by a girl?" The redhead was laughing, her clothes – simple clothes, a rough linen shirt and a borrowed pair of blacksmith's trousers she used when she was working – and hair – simple hair, dark red and tied up in a bun, with strands hanging free over her face – soaking wet. She was backing slowly away from Gavren – which, in the rocky hills outside of Northshire, was tricky to accomplish without losing her footing and making a fool of herself, which would have decisively ruined her moment of triumph.

He shook his head, grinning back and hefting another water skin. "I learned to accept being beaten by a girl the day I met you, Cath. But I also learned to get pleasure winning where I can. And you foolishly turned your back on all of the water!"

She was still grinning and backing away. If Gavren got too close, the shot would be too easy. "Well, when we brought water supplies out here for our days work, I guess my silly little self figured we'd be drinking it, not playing Gavren Joins the Imperial Navy," she smirked.

"Ah, silly you indeed, Cathery. I distinctly recall you noticing that I brought substantially more water than necessary this morning, and accepting a mumbled explanation with no second thoughts. Admit it, your guard was down." He was adopting his fake-pedantic-teacher tone, basking in his temporary superiority, explaining her folly in the most friendly, teasing voice he could.

She threw it right back at him. "Ah, you are the truly silly one Gavren," she smiled, shaking her head.

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her soaked body. "I am, am I?"

She simply nodded, smiling. Something about her smile was devious, and it triggered a switch in Gavren's brain, causing him to notice that she had stopped backing away. She'd let him get close. And just as metaphorical alarm bells began to sound, he saw her procure a hidden water skin – Gavren's special skin for camping, by far the largest of the bunch – from behind her back. And he saw it leave her hand and arc smoothly towards him.

Really, though, by the time his body started evasive action, it was too late. One short _ploosh _later, he was soaking. He was soaking more than she was; there wasn't a dry inch on his body. Cathery, for her part, was rolling around on the ground, giggling hysterically. Gavren doubted she'd laughed this much in the last year. Her laughter was pearling and echoing off of the stony hills of Northshire, where the two of them had been engaged in a rare herb gathering contest, and it was loud enough for an army.

Gavren simply sighed and put down the water skin he had intended to assault her with. First more herbs, and now more soaking. Cathery was up two on him, and by the sun, it didn't look to even be one in the afternoon yet. _Not much point in attacking her again the way my luck is going; I'm not sure I want to escalate this war if I can't win. I'll get her back later._

He walked over and sat down near the bundles of gathered herbs and baskets of food and water they had brought to allow them to stay out here longer. Gavren's father was the villages potion-brewer, a dabbler in alchemy and all sorts of parlor magics. But he was physically frail, and pushing old age, and substantially less than wealthy. Gavren, and Cathery, doing her best friend's duty, routinely helped him procure supplies.

After he had been sitting on a convenient rock for what seemed like ten minutes, allowing the hot noonday sun to dry his clothes, her laughter finally subsided. She managed to pick herself up and made her way over to him, still grinning broadly.

"Got you good, Gav." She nodded sagely with this statement, the motion proclaiming it as absolute truth. And Gavren couldn't really argue. She had certainly turned the tables on him. So he just shrugged, and nodded in acquiescence.

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, passing a piece of bread back and forth, tearing off small pieces and munching, before Cathery finally spoke. "Let's go North, Gav."

He blinked and looked up. "What?"

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "North. Let's go there. Just for a few weeks."

He stared at her in confusion. "North... as in Stormwind?"

She shook her head and sighed. "No, dummy. Stormwind is boring. North as in the Northern Kingdoms. I know you've always wanted to see Lodaeron."

He was still staring. "Cathery, not to be blunt, but why?"

She shrugged again. She was doing that a lot, lately, and Gavren noticed it. She did it when she was uncomfortable and didn't want it to show. "Because. Because your father's fine – this was more of a stocking up on reserves trip than an emergency supplies excursion, and we have more than enough here to last him for a few weeks anyways. Because we're old, so we can. Because it would be exciting. Because Goldshire is the most boring place in Azeroth."

He frowned. "Better bored than dead, Cath. Haven't you been listening to the news? The Northern Kingdoms are under siege by... something. There's rumors of a plague, there's rumors of zombies, there's rumors of demons and orcs. Some people say that Prince Arthas himself has gone mad. Is this really a good time for a field trip?"

She shrugged. Again. Gavren knew it meant something, but his brain wasn't telling him what it was yet. "It wouldn't be that dangerous. We could stick to main roads, stay near cities, make sure we can see guards wherever we go. It would just be nice to travel, see the world a little bit. You could find yourself some nice young woman to marry."

He laughed. "Yeah, a woman who can cook."

Her glare was fiery and immediate. "I can cook _perfectly_ well, thank you."

He kept laughing, feeling he had finally gotten one up on her. "Pies – traditionally speaking – aren't supposed to be green, Cath."

She frowned. "That... that was the oven's fault. And besides, so what if you're right. Maybe I can't cook. All the more reason for you to go meet someone who can," she finished brightly.

He regarded her for a few minutes, smiling at a temporary victory in their endless verbal sparring, and suddenly, it clicked in his mind. The shrugging, the surprising proposa, and the look he had seen in her eyes yesterday when she thought he wasn't looking.

"You want to run away from home."

She jumped like she had been shot, staring around guiltily, refusing to meet his gaze. "No! I just... it's not that - "

"I know you too well for this, Cath," he murmured, shaking his head at her with a tinge of sadness. "You want to run away from home. From your father."

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, no sound coming out, before she found the ability to speak. She was soft now, reserved, her secret shattered. "Yeah."

Gavren looked at her, waiting for more, but apparently 'yeah' was all she felt like sharing at the moment. "It's okay for you to call him 'dad', Cathery."

She shook her head, regaining a little of her fire. "That is one thing I've vowed never to do. I've broken a lot of vows, and I'll break a lot more, but that one I'm keeping."

Gavren sat back and stayed silent for a few minutes, pondering his options before he made a decision. "You're really serious about this, aren't you Cathery."

She nodded.

"And that means you'll go no matter what I say."

She nodded again and looked up at him.

"Well, I'd be a pretty awful friend if I didn't watch your back while you do this utterly stupid thing, then."

She looked shocked for a moment, and then hid it beneath joy as she jumped up and embraced him. "Thank you, Gavren - "

"BUT," he cut her off, "there is a caveat." She looked at him expectantly. "This isn't permanent running away from home. Not yet. That's a huge bridge to burn, Cathery. We'll go for a few weeks if you really need to get away from your father for a while, but we're coming back. And then we'll see." He was looking her sternly and squarely in the eyes. "Is that a deal?"

She just hugged him again, tighter this time. Gavren was slightly worried she'd crack a rib, and pushed her back a little to give himself some breathing space. "It's a deal, Gav. Thank you. Thank you."

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The herald pushed the doors open and bowed low before the eleven night elves seated around a firepit. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I present the Druidess A'lunthorela." The herald backed away from the doors, making room for Edelia to squeeze in and offer a bow of her own to the committee before she assumed a formal standing position from which to make her report.

"Something has undoubtedly occurred of great significance. I believe that as the Kaldorei, we in our knowledge and power have a responsibility to act. The spirits of the world have felt great disturbances..."

Her report went on for about ten minutes, detailing things the assembled Night Elves very much did not want to hear. Strange magics in the world, with an increasing demonic presence. Rumors floating on the tongue of the wind about a plague of undead ravaging the lands across the seas. Disturbances in the North of the world.

Edelia was a member of a vocal minority. Many of her superiors had made substantial efforts to silence her. The last thing they wanted was to have to admit the existence of these events and these phenomena, which posed threats to the very heart of the Kaldorei way of life. Edelia and her troublesome cohorts seemed – to the druidic elders – only too happy to destroy peace and quiet with bizarre and outlandish predictions of doom.

When she had finished speaking, the assembly sat in silence for several minutes before a tall male elf on the far left, sporting a shock of almost painfully bright green hair, opened his mouth to speak. "Could these," he started, and then paused, as if searching for the right word to continue, "disturbances you speak of be related to the green-skinned creatures who have recently appeared to the South of our lands?"

Edelia shrugged. "I can't speak with any authority here. I haven't had much communication with the Sentinels, whose scouts have done all of our reconnaissance work. But my intuition tells me the two are unrelated. The green-skins arrived after the initial reports of these 'disturbances' were received."

Another committee member opened their mouth with another question, this one more meaningless than the last. The process was repeated until Edelia's work and fears, all gathered up in this report, had been reduced to an object of almost mockery.

The same as always.

_Sodding idiots. Pretended to take me seriously for all of ten minutes before things went straight to hell. _

Eventually she was escorted out of the room, feeling much more worried than she had before her entrance. Edelia was not always on smooth terms with the rest of her race, but she very much did not want to see them destroyed. And she was very much worried that it was going to happen.

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_Author Comments, Part Two_

Like I said, I'm going to try and get the next chapter up tonight as well. I'm not sure if I'll accomplish it, and I repeat my promise to have it up tomorrow if I don't.

Hopefully a good bundle questions have been raised in your mind by now. What the hell happened to Cathery? What the hell happened to her father? What the hell happened to the shaman and priest who were summoned to help Gavren? Who was that man Cath met in Duskwood?

Honestly, there's a lot of character development, arduous adventuring, and epic battling in between now and those answers, but I promise they are forthcoming, in future installments of Ebb, Arc, and Flow. Thanks for reading :).

In retrospect, this author comments part two section seems kind of dumb. I'm going to leave it here anyways. Chalk it up to me being very tired. Sorry.

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	4. The Lead

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Well, this didn't go up last night like I was hoping, but it's nice and long. Has some touching moments, some mystery ones, and sets up some very bloody ones coming in Chapter 5.

Yet another plea for reviews, and another heartfelt thank you to those of you who have. Feed me, Seymour.

"Alex, I'll take fanfiction authors for 400 please." "Very good. The answer is: This person does not own World of Warcraft or any rights to it." **Beep**. "Is it 'Who is Joreza'"? "That's correct, for 400 points".

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Edelia walked back into the Blue Recluse around twenty minutes after ten in the morning, slightly late. Her meeting with Ireth – another immigrant from Darnassus to Stormwind, and the friend she'd mentioned to Gavren the previous night – had stretched on a little longer than intended. Ireth had been completely enthralled by the contents of the bottle and the story that accompanied them, and despite her lack of answers or insight, had been unwilling to let it go. _Slightly disturbing, now that I think about it – she was going all giddy and research-happy over some poor man being turned into a sludgy goo puddle by a person who is probably very evil, and then the poor sod got slopped into a ale bottle. She could've shown a little respect. But at least I got her professional opinion._

Edelia's head was aching slightly due to lack of sleep. By the time she had gotten back last night it was past two in the morning, and her meeting with Gavren wasn't until ten, but she had to get up a few hours early to see Ireth. All in all, she wasn't running on as much rest as she liked. She hadn't even found the time to change her clothes, comb her hair, or really make herself any more ready for work than she had been the night before. _I haven't even taken a bath, and contrary to what Mardant told me back when I was a novice, being a druid is no excuse for poor hygiene. I hope Gavren doesn't mind the smell. Then again, he is a human, and they certainly have their own peculiar stench at times. _

He was already sitting at a table for two, starting into a breakfast of eggs and toast. She sat down across from him and ordered an omelet.

"Sorry I'm late. My friend was a little obsessive about the fate of Frederick here," she said, gesturing to the bottle.

He looked up from his eggs – the scent of them was making Edelia even more hungry than she already was, and making her desperately wish her omelet would come so her stomach would stop rumbling – and nodded at her. "That's fine. I didn't actually get here on time myself. I was held up over in Old Town, where I discovered the whereabouts of the help I called for last night."

Edelia frowned slightly. He was speaking quietly, distractedly, and he looked worse than she felt – and, she imagined, worse than she looked. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were bloodshot and deeply baggy. He seemed to have barely slept at all. "Where were they?"

Gavren looked up at the ceiling for a moment before he looked back down at her and sighed. Then he proceeded to pull out a clear glass flask. Edelia recognized it as the type used in the alchemy work that Ireth was so fond of. It was about half full of a white, opaque liquid.

_A white, opaque liquid that looks very similar to the substance in my ale bottle... _

Gavren nodded, confirming her first suspicion. "There was another one."

She winced involuntarily. "It wasn't one of the people you called for, was it?"

"No, no," Gavren shook his head emphatically, re-assuring her. He understood very well why the thought of someone working on investigating this crime becoming a victim would be extremely unsettling. "The lieutenant I sent back to fetch help – Katryna – she gave a description of the initial state of the body. She didn't see the goo phase, or whatever we have now, but she did see the melting skin and muscles that I described to you last night. Apparently, as the people she found to help were on their way here, a man in Old Town stopped them, screaming about his wife being murdered. The description of the body matched what Katryna saw, so they took some initiative and went in to look around. And sure enough, after an hour or so their body melted into this," he gestured at the alchemy flask. "All in all, they got less sleep than we did last night – they were up pretty late trying to figure it out."

Edelia quirked an eyebrow at this. "They got less sleep than _I_ did, at any rate. But frankly, Gavren, I'd say you look like you're winning the over-worked and under-rested competition here." She eyed his disheveled and exhausted appearance again. He looked like he was about to protest, but she leaned in and cut him off. "I admire your dedication to this. I've been working with you for less than a full day and I'm already impressed, that says a lot. But we have two dead bodies here. We don't need a sodding third on our hands. That's all I'm saying." She gave him a meaningful look.

He found the energy to laugh slightly, which surprised him. "Don't worry. I won't work myself to death. If I start to keel over, just hit me on the head and I'll pass out for a bit."

She had to laugh at the nonchalance with which he approached his own exhaustion. She had been complaining to herself about her own state ten minutes ago, but Gavren was much worse off and was taking it in stride. It was simultaneously humbling and inspiring.

"Speaking of work ethic though," he leaned in, "I more or less told the two from last night they could back out of this. I think they both want to, and I understand. Neither of them had any particular insight into what was happening, so the expertise I was hoping for wasn't really there. And they're not bound to this." He paused, looking at her. Edelia stared straight back, unblinking. "I just want to make sure you know the same offer extends to you, is all. I appreciate what you've done so far, but I don't want you to feel as if you're under some obligation to help me."

She shook her head no, slowly but firmly. "When I first came here, I met a woman named Amy. I didn't have any friends and she helped me. I made her a promise that I would help the Temple if it was ever within my power and the Temple needed me. I think you need all the help you can get now. Besides which, I serve Cenarius every day of my life. Whatever is happening here, whatever happened to those two people – I don't think it's in balance. It feels wrong, unnatural, forced." She paused to run a hand through her hair, carefully pondering the implications of her next statement. She said it regardless. "I'm with you on this, all the way to the finish."

She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it in support. In that moment, the gesture of friendship meant the world to him. These murders were truly horrible in their own right, and the fact that Gavren's best lead still indicated that his former friend was responsible added extra weight for him. He'd been preparing himself mentally for Edelia wanting to rid herself of this mess, but he had been pleasantly surprised.

After a few seconds she let his hand go. Her omelet had finally arrived, and her growling stomach was making a very persuasive case that using her hands to eat was much more pressing than being friendly. Gavren simply smiled at her. "Thank you, Edelia."

She returned the smile, and then started in on her food.

His smile faded as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. She had committed to see this through. He owed her respect, or at least parity in their partnership. It was time to come clean.

"Edelia, when I told you last night that the family wasn't sure what they had seen, I was lying."

He paused to gauge her reaction. She looked up and stopped eating, but didn't say anything. The silence was becoming uncomfortable, so he continued.

"I know – knew – Frederick Latrielle. I was very close friends with his daughter when I was younger. Her name was Cathery. And her mother swears – convincingly enough that I believe her – Cathery was the killer. I was a little reluctant to tell you this before, maybe because I didn't want to believe it. I'm sorry."

There was a pregnant silence for about half a minute. Edelia took another bite of food. Gavren had just opened his mouth to speak when she finally cut him off.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly.

His eyes opened wide. "I thought I was the one who had cause to be apologizing here."

"Of course you didn't want to tell me. It's your friend and her father. I can't imagine how horrifying that must be. You don't need to explain." Her voice was soft, understanding. She had taken his hand again. Gavren was being treated with sympathy, not scorn, and said a silent prayer of thanks to the Light for Edelia's empathy.

"Look, we'll get this worked out. Maybe the mother was mistaken, maybe there's some explanation. We can start by finding Cathery. Have you asked for help tracking her?"

Gavren blushed immediately at his oversight. "No, I haven't."

"It's alright. We can finish up here, and then you and I can go see someone at the Sanctum for help. You can send a request to the Temple for aid – see if anyone has seen her recently, using the mother's description. We'll see if we can find out the order of the murders last night, and where she went afterwords. It'll be okay, Gavren."

For the first time since seeing Frederick Latrielle's body, Gavren felt relieved.

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"It should not be this sodding difficult to get a little bit of help when we're on more or less oficial business," Edelia hissed under her breath. Gavren nodded emphatically – but not emphatically enough to draw undue attention – at her sentiments. They had been stuck in the Stormwind Arcane Sanctum for the better part of two hours. They explained they needed a mage to help them with an important question of magic, and the meeting had to occur in private. They had explained it four or five times, in fact, each time to a various low-ranking aide who had barely given them a glance. They had been assured an equal number of times that they would be helped soon.

"Soon" ended up meaning another hour of waiting before they were finally led into a small antechamber, where a hunch-backed man in grey robes sat behind a desk, glaring at them.

"I am Melare. I have been informed that the two of you sincerely believe you have something more important to show me than my studies. Please proceed to do so if this is the case."

Ten minutes later, they had given a notarized version of their lives for the past twelve hours, and Melare was examining both bottles of fluid.

"Damn shame, some bloke had this for his end..." murmured the mage, spinning the ale bottle in his fingers.

"Yes, it is. Nature's creatures were not meant to rest this way. Can you help us deal with this?" Edelia asked.

He stared at them both for several seconds.

"No."

He didn't simply say it, he announced it. Loudly. And then he was on his feet and scribbling furiously on a parchment in front of him.

"Wait, what do you mean?" Gavren rose to his feet also. "'No'? That's all we get? You barely even looked at the damn things!"

"I'm sorry, I just can't help you." Melare shrugged, still speaking loudly, still scribbling.

Edelia looked at his hands, rushing over the parchment. "What are you doi-"

"I am not doing anything, dear girl, except informing you of my utter unfamiliarity with whatever happened to the poor souls in these bottles, and escorting you out of the building." Melare walked around the desk and over to Gavren. He took the latter's hand, shaking it. "I thank you for your interest in our work here at the Arcane Sanctum, Gavren Tuldor. It was very nice to meet you. But I am very busy and can be of no use to you. Good day."

Two novices walked into the room and over to Melare. The three of them collectively offered to show Gavren and Edelia out. Twenty seconds later, they were both on the grass in the mage's district, outside the Sanctum. Edelia was livid.

"What the _sodding hell_ _just happened_? He was looking at them, he was thinking, and he just stonewalled us! That useless sod! Gavren, go back to the Temple and get a damn army of Paladins. I have no idea why he rebuffed us like that, but one of these sods has got to know something - " 

Gavren clapped a hand over her mouth, silencing her, and half-led half-dragged her away from the sanctum, towards the shadowy corner of a tavern.

He eyed her meaningfully. "Be quiet. I don't think he rebuffed us."

Gavren showed her his free hand. Clenched in it was a piece of parchment. The same one Melare had been scribbling on. The scrawl was haphazard and rushed, messy and hard to read.

_Forbidden knowledge. Can't speak about it. It's why your meeting took so long to occur. You want Slaughtered Lamb Tavern. Turn right from Sanctum, go up three doors. People in the basement will help. Good luck. Don't come back here._

Gavren had forgotten he still had one hand clamped over Edelia's mouth, until she reminded him by pushing rather forcefully on his arm. He jumped back.

"Ow! That hurt."

She shrugged and took the parchment to read. "You made the point to be quiet fast enough, you didn't have to keep a muffler on me. Slaughtered Lamb Tavern... I've never heard of it, but it sounds close." She glanced up at him. "Let's go."

Minutes later they entered the Slaughtered Lamb. The tavern was empty as the bartender turned to face them. Edelia gasped, but stifled it quickly. Gavren made no noise, but was close enough she could feel him flinch.

The man was missing an eye.

He wasn't wearing an eyepatch.

Doing her best to avoid staring straight at his socket, Edelia opened her mouth to ask where the basement was, and try to come up with an excuse why she needed to see it, when the bartender proved infinitely more helpful than anyone in the Arcane Sanctum.

"Stairs behind the tables over there. Don't make too much noise."

He turned back around. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. Edelia and Gavren were staring at each other. "He knew we wanted the basement. What the hell is in the basement? Or more generally, what the hell is this tavern?" she whispered. Gavren just shrugged and guided her towards the stairs.

Once inside the stairwell, the soft wood paneling of a tavern disappeared. The walls were cold, hard stone, gray and lifeless – not just lifeless, but life-_sucking_, if such a thing was possible. Even the air in the stairwell felt dead. Except for the crackle of the torches that lit the way, it was deadly silent.

After walking for several minutes, they emerged in a large underground room. Both of them had to stifle another round of gasping.

The room was massive, high ceilings and arching circular walls. Everything was stone, and almost everything was black. The only light source was a single firepit in the center, flames high enough to illuminate the two men and one woman standing around it. All of them were wearing scarlet red robes, the color of blood. All three were watching Gavren and Edelia expectantly.

The man on the far left, by far the tallest and most imposing of the lot, spoke. His voice was deep, commanding, and slightly ominous. "We have been waiting for you. Melare may have left the circle, but he still stays in touch. It sounds as though we may have the wondrous opportunity in front of us to be of service to the great city of Stormwind." The way his voice inflected the word 'wondrous' left little doubt that he was being either sarcastic or condescending, possibly both.

He left the fireside and walked towards Gavren and Edelia, reaching his hands out expectantly. "Melare said you had things to show us, yes?"

Edelia procured her ale bottle and handed it over. Gavren did the same with the alchemy flask. Both were mulled over for a few moments by the tall man before he handed them back.

"Two distinct bodies. On the same night. Extremely rare." With this pronouncement, which neither Edelia nor Gavren comprehended, the man turned at walked back to his companions by the fire, where he turned to face them.

"I expect," the tall man began, leaning his head to the side, "that there were copious quantities of blood at both location? Or near them?"

Edelia just looked at Gavren. He had been to the first murder scene before her, and she hadn't ever seen the second. Gavren, for his part, was looking slightly taken aback. "Actually, there wasn't any blood at all. Neither of the bodies seemed to have any wounds inflicted on them. Both the floors were clean."

At this, the tall man and his companions frowned in concert. "Are you certain of this? It is extremely important," murmured the woman.

Gavren turned to her. "Yes, I'm positive. We didn't know – and still don't – what could have happened to these two people. We searched for blood trying to determine what injuries, if any, had been inflicted. There was none."

The tall man walked forward again. "What about the temple hospital? Any complaints of severe wounds that night? Anything unusual _at all_? Your answer to this is imperative," he stated quite dramatically.

Gavren thanked the Light for Katryna as his lieutenant. Her reports on happenings at the Temple were fairly thorough. "No, nothing like that. Why is this so important?"

The tall man gazed at him with disconcerting eyes, black as the shadowy stones surrounding them, for several moments before responding. "It is important because we believed we knew what had occurred. These types of death are extremely rare, but not unheard of, when powerful practitioners of the more, shall we say, _shadowy_ magics are severely wounded in one manner or another. It is a complicated method of healing by feeding off the binding life forces – spiritual and physical – of the attacker. But wounds grevious enough to require sucking everything out of the body and creating _this_ " - he gestured toward the ale bottle in Edelia's hand - "would certainly leave traces."

Gavren sighed. He understood the implications and what was not being said here all too well. They had been lead to a warlock den for help, and Cathery had probably become a warlock herself. A demonic and shadowy practitioner of warped magic. But there were more important matters to settle at the moment.

"So if it wasn't what you expected – because I can assure you there were no traces of wounds or any conflict, aside from the corpses, at either of the scenes – what did happen?"

There was silence for several moments, and then the second man, the only member of the three who had not yet spoken, answered. "This we cannot tell you. We are unqualified to explain the implications of these murders as you report them. Instead of turning to us for answers, you will turn to Booty Bay. Go there. Find a man known only as Kalaristo. Report to him this conversation and your findings. He will enlighten you about the nature of your dead bodies. Leave us now, this interview is finished."

With that, all three warlocks turned and walked through a shadowy doorway at the far end of the room. Even Edelia's glowing and darkness-accustomed eyes had missed it before.

Edelia and Gavren were left alone in the cold and disconcerting basement.

"Well," Edelia muttered, turning to face him, "that was less useful than it could have been."

"Yes, it was. But at least we have a lead of sorts now."

"Booty Bay. That's a distance from here. It's a damned inconvenient lead. But," she sighed, straightening up from a slouch she had inadvertently fallen into, "it certainly is something. So, to Kalaristo, then?"

Gavren nodded. "We don't have much choice. To Kalaristo."

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Cathery's hand rapped softly on the wooden door 3 times, and then checked to make sure her hood was hiding her face. It wouldn't do to be seen, not now. _Not when we're so close to having everything we need..._

She had found her Master's gift. It was everything she could have hoped for at her current stage, and if all went well, she would be using it very soon...

The door opened. A Blood Elf stood in its place, tall and broad shouldered, with long blond hair.

"Yes, uh..." his voice faltered as he saw her hooded and robed visage, but soon picked up. "May I help you?"

She took her time in responding, examining him, scrutinizing him, making him feel uncomfortable. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak. "Yes, I think you can... Kalaristo."

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Next update is promised sometime Saturday or Sunday.

Warning for the faint of heart: I will not be omitting the details of Cathery's visit to Kalaristo, and some of them will be fairly gruesome.

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	5. The Dagger

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New chapter. Hope you enjoy it, I think it's getting better.

Please leave a review and let me know what you thought of it, or any questions, concerns, comments... This chapter is by far the longest one yet, in terms of word count, so feed me!

**Link N Ivy:** All good speculations... Yeah, there's much much more to it than killing for revenge. It's very sinister, actually :)

**Alexis Kent:** Thanks for leaving another review, I'm glad you're enjoying the story

**Everyone who left reviews before I realized the cool kids respond to individual reviewers:** Thanks, I love ya'll.

**Chapter taken down and re-uploaded - Alexis Kent kindly pointed out that I had some typoes. That's what happens when I start a chapter at 11 and don't finish until midnight - the proofreading part of my brain goes to bed before the rest of me. If anyone finds any more, please let me know.**

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"_You need a bath, Gavren." she slinked towards him, reaching up and unbuttoning the top of her black shirt. It had somehow grown more revealing between yesterday and now, and with a button open it was the epitome of temptation. "Why don't you come here, and I'll give you one?"_

_He stood in his room as she approached him, swaying her hips, moving around him, encircling her arms about him. She started to pull him closer to her, tighter against her body..._

_And then she was shaking him, which was a confusing turn of events – and she seemed to be yelling at him – _

"Sodding hell, Gavren, I know we had a late night but you sleep like a rock! Come on, wake up!" Edelia stopped shaking him momentarily to glance around the room in hopes of finding a water pail, or similar item that could be used in a more dramatic rousing of the sleeping paladin. Just as she noticed a promising bucket on the window, the paladin sat up, his eyes shooting open as he mumbled something she didn't quite catch.

"Finally, Gav. Do they teach you to sleep like that in the temple, or something?" she grinned. "I was shaking you for almost a minute."

Gavren stared at her for a few seconds as powerful memories of his dream ran through his mind. His rather heated dream – or at least, heading in heated directions – involving a certain night elf...

She quirked an eyebrow at him as he kept staring. It had become a signature move of hers over the last few days. It was always the right eyebrow, Gavren noticed, and it disturbed him that he watched her face close enough to realize that.

"Um, sorry," he mumbled, looking down. "I was still half in my dream, you know. Uh, give me a few minutes to get fully awake," he looked up at her, hoping she would leave him alone. He needed to deal with the thoughts in his brain.

He was in luck. Edelia nodded. "Don't take too long, we're running a little behind where we wanted to be, but alright." She walked out of the room.

Gavren laid back down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Yesterday, after agreeing to follow up on the lead given to them in the Slaughtered Lamb and seek out Kalaristo, Gavren and Edelia had flown Southeast to Darkshire, a step closer to Booty Bay. Upon arriving, both their bodies had issued firm reminders that sleep had been in short supply over the last few days, and they had agreed to stop and rest, setting out for Booty Bay the next day. And sleep had brought Gavren some very disturbing dreams...

"Not disturbing. They were enjoyable. But _that's_ what's so disturbing about them. I am the worst paladin in the history of paladins."

Chastising himself out loud was a habit Gavren had picked up during his training. The Temple placed a rather large emphasis on repentance and confession as a road to redemption. The rational top portion of Gavren's mind wasn't sure how bad his thoughts actually were – they didn't seem to be harming anyone – but on an emotional level, he had been taught from a very young age by a religious mother (and had reinforced in his religious training) that these thoughts were impure and sinful, and would destroy him. The emotional part was winning the conflict with the rational part; particularly sense even his rational part thought that even if the thoughts themselves weren't bad, perhaps there was a time and place for everything, and this was not it. Gavren's monologue continued.

"This is not the time or the place for me to be having... _those_ sorts of thoughts! A paladin controls his emotions, and controls his body – or at least, paladins who aren't _me_ do that - "

"Is talking to yourself a regular thing, or is it just a morning ritual?" Edelia had walked back into the room, and was looking at him with a bemused expression.

Gavren's body and mind froze up, in a unified reaction of terror and shame. He wasn't experienced with women, but he suspected that having a potential love interest walk in on one's slightly crazed conversation with oneself about her was high on the list of Bad Things.

"You know, your cheeks are just the most charming shade of red right now, Gav." Edelia's smile was growing. "But seriously, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. You've been working hard on this, I can't think of any paladin who would do better. You don't need to beat yourself up over sleeping in."

For a second, Gavren's mind failed to make any sense out of her last remark, but when it finally clicked, relief flooded over him. Edelia hadn't heard everything. She had thought he was upset because he overslept. His secret was still safe.

If she gave him a way out, he was damn well going to take it. "I suppose your right. I'm just so worried about Cathery's involvement in this whole thing." The lie stuck in his throat for a moment, since what he was really worried about was his lack of worry for his friend and his preoccupation with Edelia, but he forced it out anyways. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was nagging about codes of honesty and pride he had memorized when he was in training. He told it to go stuff itself. Gavren's pride was more important to him than his oaths at the moment. It wasn't honorable, but it was the truth.

He sat up and turned to look at Edelia. Sleep had done wonders for her. She still hadn't combed her hair, but she had pulled most of the strands back out of her face, and it looked good falling freely about her shoulders. She had changed into the working clothes she had brought – out of the black shirt and into a black leather tunic that looked like it had been designed with both protection and flexibility in mind.

She offered him the cup in her hand. "Coffee. I thought you might want some."

He nodded gratefully as he took it. "You were right." Gavren enjoyed the taste, and being awake and focused was a premium right now.

"Get dressed, pack your stuff, and maybe grab a bite to eat. I'm going to see about getting us some horses."

Gavren took her advice. Fifteen minutes later, when he walked out of the Scarlet Raven Inn, he well fed, dressed in chainmail, and carrying his spare clothes and sword in a pack over his shoulder. He spotted Edelia standing next to two horses, one jet black and the other a mousey brown. She nodded to him as he approached.

"I got these for a decent price. We can drop use them for the trip and drop them off with the stable owners in Booty Bay, they have a deal worked out." She patted the black horse on the flank affectionately, and the brown one started rubbing its nose on her. Both horses definitely liked her. _Must be a druid thing..._

"Sounds good. The Temple will reimburse you for the cost of them when we get back; it's official policy when we receive outside help in our work."

"That would be great." She smiled as she picked up the saddles lying on the ground. Gavren opened his mouth to offer her assistance, as he usually found saddling horses – particularly his personal mount, an old, and at times downright cantankerous, warhorse – to be a chore. But as he watched, both horses maneuvered themselves not to hinder Edelia's efforts, but to help her, and her hands expertly slipped the saddles on before the offer came out of his mouth. She noticed that he was staring at her with his mouth open, and simply shrugged. "I guess it's a druid thing," she grinned back, echoing his earlier thoughts.

Gavren shook his head and climbed onto the brown one, Edelia having already mounted the black. Black was quickly becoming apparent as her color of choice.

The first part of the ride was uneventful. They rode through Duskwood, the old paths, the dark but beautiful trees, the discolored light that made it through the leaves turning everything a shade of gray. They turned South at one point, heading into Stranglethorn Vale, and the forest gradually began to lighten as they approached the jungle.

Close to the border between Duskwood and Stranglethorn, they stopped for a few minutes. It was important to avoid exhausting the mounts, since they wouldn't be able to get replacements before Booty Bay. Gavren hadn't thought the horses were particularly close to exhaustion, but Edelia seemed concerned with their overall level of morale. Gavren had never thought of horses as having morale before. _The third druid thing of the day, it seems._

As they sat by the side of the road, letting the horses breath and enjoy themselves, he noticed that Edelia looked troubled. Her eyebrows were furrowed, a dark shadow over her beautiful face – _stop that, Gavren. You are not allowed to see beauty in her any more. We had that talk this morning_ – and a troubled look in her eyes. Just as he was about to ask what was wrong, she turned towards him.

"Gavren, I think we may have overlooked some important questions here."

He raised his eyebrows. He couldn't pull off the single-eyebrow quirk with the same style she could, but it was good enough to indicate a question.

"It's just... We rushed pretty fast to figure out what happened to these two poor souls. And that's important to do. But I think we need to start looking at some other questions."

"What did you have in mind?"

"For one, how about motive? You said it's likely that the first man was killed by his daughter, your childhood acquaintance. If so, why? Even if she was on bad terms with him, that's hardly enough to justify a murder – and definitely not enough to justify a creepy murder involving body disintegration. And what about the second victim that was discovered later? Who was she? And why would Cathery kill her in the same fashion as her father, assuming it was Cathery? And if it was Cathery, did she know this woman? Did she have some sort of grudge there also? Or is there really something bigger going on here?" Edelia paused for a moment to draw a breath. Her questions had been coming out rapid-fire. Once she was satisfied her lungs would not implode, she continued. "I just think there are a lot of important things to be resolved that we've put off to the side. And we might not have all the information right now, but we should start thinking about these issues."

Gavren took a moment to absorb the list of questions. He agreed with all of them. It was just like when she had suggested asking a mage – it was obvious, but he had overlooked it all the same. He was quickly becoming grateful that Edelia had been the druid to answer his summons. She was saving him from serious errors of ommission.

After turning the questions around in his mind for half a minute, he answered. "You're right about all of them. I'll give it some more thought, but I can tell you that the Cathery I knew never would have killed her father simply because of their disagreements. She found him an insufferable sexist pig – and at times, he could be, she wasn't overreacting – but she never mentioned killing him because of it. Then again, she never mentioned killing anyone. Clearly she's changed." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You're right, we need to invest some thought into these. But without more information, I'm not sure how accurate our thoughts would be. Hunting down Kalaristo is our only lead toward getting that information."

"I agree, I think we should keep pursuing him. I just wanted to raise the questions themselves – we haven't discussed any of this, even hypothetically. For now, could you just tell me more about Cathery? I'd like to know a bit more about the woman we're presumably trying to capture."

Gavren nodded. "Fair enough. Although I don't know how much I can tell you about the woman who killed those two people. I don't know how much she could have in common with the Cath I knew growing up." He paused for a moment, sighing. Edelia didn't say anything. She'd never had a similar experience, but she could imagine raking your memories for clues as to what could cause your best friend to develop parricidal and homicidal tendencies was unpleasant.

Gavren rubbed his eyes for a moment, and then continued speaking. "Five years ago, she convinced me to take a trip North with her. We both lived in Goldshire, she wanted to see Lodaeron. This was around the beginnings of the plague – you know, the invasion and all that. It was probably pretty stupid of us to go up there with the news we'd heard, but Cath was always adventurous, always brave, and she really wanted to get away from her dad for a while. They'd been having disagreements over marriage – he wanted to arrange one for her, and she was a too much of a free spirit to hear a word of it. They nearly came to blows – and I don't doubt for one second she would have thrown down in a punching match with her father if it had come up. She wasn't a killer, but she wasn't afraid of fighting."

He took another pause, organizing his thoughts. "There were some close encounters up North, and we ended up coming back down a little early. Things got bad in Lodaeron when the plague hit. A lot worse than anyone expected. On the way back down, we spent the night in this run-down little inn north of Stormwind, just on the side of the road. Built for travelers. I heard her leave her room during the night, and I didn't hear her go back in – although I did fall asleep pretty fast. But the next morning, when I went down to the common room, she was sitting at a table looking like she hadn't slept a wink. And when I came down, she got up and came over to me. She felt weird. I don't know how else to say it – I could just tell there was something wrong. She told me she was leaving and that she didn't know if we'd ever see each other again, but it was equally possible we'd see each other in a matter of hours. Then she told me she'd valued my friendship. And before I could say anything, she walked out of the inn. I ran out after her, but I couldn't find her. She disappeared, right in broad daylight on an open road. I searched for her, even got the bartender to come out and help me, but we couldn't find a trace. Eventually, I had to leave. And I haven't seen or heard a trace of her until two days ago, when her mother told me that Cath killed her father."

Edelia was staring at him. It was a strange mixture of sympathy and bewilderment at the admittedly strange ending to his story. Gavren had hated almost every second he spent telling the story. He felt like Cath's disappearance was his fault, and he didn't know why. But he had the distinct feeling that if he had just done something more, he could have saved her. He hadn't acknowledged that feeling, but it had been eating him slowly over the last two days, and he could tell from Edelia's face that she had read his emotions like an open book. She didn't say anything, but approached him and gave him a hug.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his ear. "I never took the time to say that properly. But I'm truly sorry you have to go through this, after you knew her for so long." She pulled back slightly and looked at him. "The one thing you need to know is that to me, it sounds like Cathery chose her own fate. Whatever happened, she understood it was going to happen. She walked out of the inn voluntarily. And you can't hold yourself responsible for that. You were her friend, not her keeper."

Gavren closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Somehow, without realizing it, he had come very close to crying. Telling the story brought up more emotions than he'd realized. He gathered his resolve, and pushed his feelings around Cathery's disappearance back down beneath the surface. _Time to get to work now. _

"Thank you for understanding. But I'm okay now." He gestured towards the horses. "Shall we?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cathery took a moment to admire her work. Kalaristo was stripped, gagged, and tied up with rope, hanging from the ceiling of his own workshop. It was his own rop, which gave Cathery a degree of satisfaction. Kalaristo's eyes were wide with fear, darting wildly around the workshop and always landing on her.

The blood elf hadn't proven much of a challenge. She'd invited herself into his home – discourteous, but he hadn't pointed it out – by alluding to having a job for him, and when his back was turned, hit him on the head with a heavy brass candlestick. When he'd finally regained consciousness – which had taken several hours – he was in his current position. She'd left him there for the rest of the day, starving him but giving him a little water. A day of suspense was good interrogational practice, when you had the time. One of Cathery's first lessons from her Master had dealt with the psychological aspects of control. They were just as, if not more, important than the physical ones. Kalaristo's psychological state after a day of being gagged, naked, and starved would amplify the physical effects of what she was about to do to him.

But the waiting had gone on long enough. It was time to start. She walked over to him.

"You know, Kalaristo, you invented a 'technique' some time ago. Decades ago, in fact. It was a very special technique. You tried to destroy the journals you took it from because you didn't want anyone to ever use it. You know what I'm talking about, don't you." Her tone made it very clear that the last sentence was not a question.

She grabbed his face and turned it towards herself, looking into his eyes. He nodded slightly. If this had been an ordinary conversation, he probably would have denied any knowledge of his past work, and been infuriating in general. Cathery loved how compliant people became when you put them in the right conditions.

"I used it." She paused to observe his reaction. The eyes widened a little more – a trace of new fear. Good. Exactly what she wanted.

"I used it twice, actually." As she spoke, she began walking around his body, ambling slowly. "It worked both times. But I need you to give me some answers about the... final stages, shall we say." At this, Kalaristo's body seized and he started frantically trying to mumble something around the gag. Cathery underestood exactly what he was trying to mumble. He was the father of this theory, and would know the implications of what she had said. Doubtless he was trying to rant about her sanity and the extreme dangers of finishing what she had started. Cathery allowed him the privilege of trying to make himself heard for a few more seconds, before she punched him in the face. It was a good punch, hard enough to draw some blood from his nose. He gave a single loud mumble at this, and then fell silent.

"Yes, Kalaristo. I am planning to go all the way with this. Nothing you can say – or at least, would say, if you weren't gagged at the moment – would deter me. In fact, what you will do is help me."

Kalaristo made a noise. She imagined that it would have been a scornful laugh. She expected as much – she'd come here knowing it would require extreme persuasion to get what she wanted.

"Regardless of what you think now, Kalaristo, you will help me. Allow me to show you why."

She pulled out the present her Master had left for her to find. A dagger, forged from dark iron. The blade seemed to suck in the light itself, darkening the world around it. Runes were etched on the surface, old and powerful runes from a time long before Cathery's existence in the world, or her Master's. She didn't understand the exact workings of the magic, nor how it had been acquired. But she had been taught well enough to recognize what the function of the dagger would be.

Pain.

The magic would amplify the sensations of pain in any it was used on. If she did something with the dagger that would have been painful with any blade, this particular weapon would turn pain into overwhelming agony. Since Cathery had quickly become adept at doing painful things with blades, it was the perfect complement to her skills. Her Master knew her so well. Magic was important, but doing the work manually just felt right to her.

She took the dagger and laid it against Kalaristo's chest. She moved it down slowly to the side of his ribcage, ignoring his frantic muffled protests. Soon they would turn into frantic muffled screams, and she would ignore those too.

She turned the dagger on its side and dug it under his skin, drawing blood. Even tied up he could flail enough to complicate her work, so she used her free hand to hold him steady. Once he had stopped moving, she slid the dagger sideways along his skin, cutting off a large slice. About a foot long and an inch wide, straight off his side. When the strip was as long as she wanted, she didn't cut the far end. She used her and and pulled, ripping his skin apart with brute force. Kalaristo's muffled screams had been growing consistently louder, and this drew the loudest one yet. Cathery was quite grateful for the existence of gags. If it weren't for the one in Kalaristo's mouth, everyone in Booty Bay would have come running to see what was happening by now.

She looked down, admiring her work. The skinning had started cleanly. His muscle was exposed, pink and sinewy, slippery from blood. The same blood that covered her hands and the part of the floor where she had unceremoniously thrown the strip of skin.

She touched the tip of the dagger to his exposed muscle and smiled at him. "In an hour or so, you're going to be on your knees begging to help me. Until then, isn't it nice that you and I get to spend quality time together like this, uninterrupted?


End file.
